


Chimera

by Samarkand12



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Incest, Marital Abuse, SCIENCE!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-09 00:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samarkand12/pseuds/Samarkand12
Summary: In which happenstance puts two of the multiverse's self-centered and vain characters into the same body: Cersei Lannister and Lucrezia Mongfish.  Only in Westeros could this fusion be considered a net improvement.





	1. Chapter 1

  
_The tent was stifling. It reeked of stale spices and the crone's foulness. Yet Cersei did not flinch when she followed Maggy the Frog deeper into her lair. A lion did not cower before a toad. She braved the cut of the dagger and the disturbing sensation of the witch-woman suckling on the wound. How could the crone harm her? She was a Lannister, the daughter of the great Tywin. Her future would be glorious.  
  
"When will I wed the prince?"  
  
"Never. You will wed the king."  
_  
Cersei shuddered awake. Beside her, her husband snored drunkenly beside her. Tears dripped down her cheeks. The crone had said her tears would one day drown her. Better it happen now. Oh, how the spicer's wife must be cackling at her fate. The wedding last evening had been everything she could have hoped for. It had not been Rhaegar, the one she had intended, with whom she had exchanged cloaks. Yet surely Robert Baratheon was as glorious a match. He was a dark-haired man with a figure carved to the ultimate of manhood by war and ancestry. The blood of the dragon mingled in his veins with the blood of the stag. How could he be a disappointment?  
  
She curled up around the pain between her thighs. Robert had battered her with all the grace of a ram smashing open the gates of a city. Bruises left by his fingers marked her shoulders. She would have to wear full-sleeved gowns or apply powder to cover them. Worse was the burning coal within her mind. What he had screamed at the height of his passion: the name of the wolf-bitch who had stolen Rhaegar from his rightful love. Gods be damned, had the younger queen already dethroned her before the crown had been placed upon her brow? A queen of love and beauty crowned with blue roses? Cersei's hands twisted into vengeful claws. How fortunate for her that the Stark slut had died alone in the wilderness of Dorne. She deserved her face ripped to ruins beneath Cersei's nails for stealing both prince and king.  
  
Cersei mutely accepted her husband's sleepy pawing. Such was the fate of women--to be pierced upon one sword or another. She was trapped by bonds of marriage and duty. Were she to flee with Jaime, Father would not rest until she was dragged back to her husband's bed. A lioness must serve the leader of the pride, did she not? All the while she had thought herself carried towards a glorious fate, only to find that fate were silken strings that twitched her like a mere mummer's puppet. If only she had control.  
  
Cersei closed her eyes.  
  
She prayed to Maiden and Mother and Crone that her wish be granted.  
  
.... _what was this? She was being lead to a throne fit for an empress. It was a seat of gold and crystal and stranger things besides. Pale warrior women with pure-white eyes conducted her towards it. Why was she struggling? "Papa! No! **PLEASE!**_ " _Such a fool. Tywin Lannister always knew best. Her father would never condemn her to a horrible fate. Anev--Cersei gladly accepted her seat in the Bea--throne. Straps tightened at wrist and ankle. She would be crowned! She would be a true queen! Lightning danced over her skin. Yes. Yes, this was her fa--destiny._  
  
 _The world went white._  
  
++++  
  
"Others eat your eyes, did I marry a lunatic?" King Robert roared. "First thing I know when I awoke after bedding her was her screaming like a cat in heat and frothing at the mouth."  
  
"Has she ever shown signs of palsy, ser?" Grandmaester Pycelle asked, stroking his beard.  
  
"No, never." Jaime knelt by his twin's bedside.  
  
"It could be a sudden fever or ague," the Grandmaester said. He hummed beneath his breath. "I must consult my texts, your Grace. Perhaps even send a raven to the Archmaester of Healing in the Citadel. She is safe for now. I administered sweetsleep it calm her mind."  
  
"Wonderful. Any children from her womb could be as mad as her." Robert flushed as Jaime bowed his head lower. "Ah, boy, don't listen to me. She was amazing at the bedding. I meant no ill--"  
  
"May I hold vigil over her, your Grace?" Jaime asked.  
  
"'Course. I'll have Ser Barristan guard me today." Robert hitched his belt. "Damn, I need a hunt and cunt to calm me after this."  
  
Jaime Lannister had killed a king once. 'Twould be easy to do so again. He tightened his hands upon the sheath of his blade, imagining throttling the oaf saddled upon his sweet sister. She lay still as death in a chamber deep within the Red Keep. The newly-crowned king has wanted her far away from his own bed for now. Small mercies. Jaime laughed silently and bitterly. Together at last, as she had plotted all those years before. She was queen and he her Kingsguard as she had promised in that little inn off of Eel Alley. The Seven must be laughing at him for their punishment for his oathbreaking.  
  
Jaime kept his vigil even though his knees ached from the bare stones beneath them. He had refused rugs to soften them lest he fall asleep while on guard. Hour after hour passed. The King never returned to see his poor--Jaime snorted--beloved wife. The bruises he had left on her. One strike and Rhaegar would be avenged. Stannis Baratheon was right. Fuck the Gods old and new. Why did they deserve worship when his sister was turned to madness in her husband's wedding bed.  
  
Eyelids fluttered.  
  
Green eyes stared up at him in confusion.  
  
"Sister?" Jaime cupped her face. "Sister? Do you know who I am?"  
  
"I--" Cersei licked her lips. "You--brother? I--who am--Lu...cei? Lucei? I am--"  
  
A twisted, wild grin twisted her features.  
  
" _I'm alive._ **I'M BACK!** "  
  
Jaime stepped back. His sword hissed out.  
  
That was not his sweet sister. That was not--  
  
The golden-haired girl in bed sat up. She opened her arms wide.  
  
"Jaime. My love. Come. I am alright. I am more than alright."  
  
"Oh, sister--" Jaime cast aside the moment of madness. His sister's arms tightened around him  
  
"Yes. The gods have answered our prayers." Cersei's wild laugh echoed within the room. "Don't worry. All will be well....darling."

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
It was amazing. It was if she was born anew. Cersei moaned when the tartness of the lemoncake washed over her tongue. Arching her back, she felt the silk gown caress her with an intimacy she had never known even with Jaime. Every sense was a revelation. The spectrum was visible in every ray of sunlight. The footsteps of a servant were a symphony. She breathed deep of the scent of the lemony treat. It was as if she were in the Water Gardens of Dorne being massaged by scantily-clad men.  
  
Ooooo.  
  
Cersei stifled a cackle behind fingertips. How naughty. Her mind was working in such strange ways. When the Seven had brought her spirit to the throne, her mind had finally been unchained after a lifetime of half-sleep. How could she ever have thought herself awake? _Dull, stupid, blind. Everything was a whirl of possibility now. She **knew things. Strange alchemies and crafts that would have staggered the Valyrians of old. She could only dip a little into the vast ocean within her. To go deeper would be to drown. Ahahahaha. But soon? YES, SOON. THEY WOULD KNOW HER TRUE POWER--**_  
  
A shuffling step roused her from her reverie. Grandmaester Pycelle had come to examine her. She suppressed a fond, contemptuous smile at what passed for a learned man here. A lecher and a fumbler, the knowledge represented by his grand chains of office a pittance compared to the magnificence of what the Crone herself had revealed to her. Cersei submitted to his ministrations, as inexpert as they truly were. She noted wryly the slight tremble in his hands when she moved just so under his touch. Old reprobate. But not without intelligence or use.  
  
"Mmmmm, you are much improved, your Grace," Pycelle said.  
  
"A foolish woman's nervousness after her bedding." Cersei smiled. "Even so, I am so fortunate I am in such firm hands."  
  
More than a little tremble there.  Goat.  
  
"I admit I much admired you when I was here with Father in his time as Hand," Cersei continued. "Learned men are so attractive. How I loved Rhaegar from afar for--"  
  
"Hush, my lady," Pycelle cautioned. "The walls have ears."  
  
"Of course," Cersei said. "But even he was a babe compared to a scholar such as yourself. I--oh, it seems foolish. 'Tis silly for a woman such as I to think it. But I thought at times how marvellous it would be to converse in some way with a scholar as a peer, in some small way."  
  
"My chambers are open to any of the royal house." Pycelle preened like a peacock. "Should you wish to discuss matters, say over a glass of wine."  
  
"It would be my honour and pleasure, Grandmaester."  
  
So easy. Cersei permitted herself one smirk at Pycelle's back before schooling her features. Had Father bought Pycelle's loyalty when he was Hand of the King? More likely Pycelle had grown weary of clenching his rectum whenever Aerys had gone on one of his rages about burning traitors. No matter. Father had his grip tight around the goat's scrotum, for Pycelle's treachery in opening the gates to the Lannister troops. Soon she'd have her own hold on the man. Likely she wouldn't even have to fuck him. Knowledge to a man such as him would be sweet, sweet wine. Eventually, he would be in so deep that he'd be her so loyal--  
  
Servant?  
  
Hmmmm. No. That wasn't the word.  
  
"Minion".  
  
Yes. The perfect word.  
  
Now, where had that come from?  
  
Cersei dismissed the question. Every so often, memories would flit through her thoughts. Doubtless they were phantasms conjured by her once-mortal mind when it beheld the mysteries revealed by the gods. Silk pooled around her ankles when she slid under the waters of a tub filled with hot water brought up by the maids. Fragrant oils and flower petals scented the waters. She idly worked out a complex series of pipes and boilers so that she might draw a bath without the bother of waiting for the servants to fill the tub. Hmmmm. Steam. Pistons and cogs and wheels and _thrusts._  
  
Much refreshed, she rang a bell to bring maid to dry and dress her. Cersei hid her displeasure at the gowns brought for her inspection. Honestly! The fashions were so medieval. Dagged sleeves that dragged on the ground? Yes, yes, it showed one was rich enough to waste the fabric. It was still so impractical. Well, she was queen. Very soon there would be a new look for the kingdoms. As a Lannister and sovereign, it was her duty to inform the realm about the latest fashions from Paris. Wherever Paris was. Perhaps one of the minor cities across the narrow sea? She should ask Pycelle at their next rendezvous.  
  
Whatever rendezvous was. Some sort of Valyrian?  
  
A servant announced her father in the room without. Cersei had her maids arrange her hair properly before seeing father. Lord Tywin Lannister stood by a window of leaded glass in the light of the sun. Cersei clutched a hand to her bosom. What a man! It was as if Klaus had returned from the vacation she'd arranged for him--wonderful man, but so troublesome--across the oceans. Middle age had not softened the muscular form discernible beneath his red doublet slashed with gold and tight breeches. Gods, to feel those legs wrapped around her hips. She licked suddenly dry lips. Oh, my. He carried off the shaved head and side-whiskers with admirable masculinity. How it would feel to play her fingers over his bare pate while he took her!  
  
Wh-what?  
  
No, that was wrong, he was her father!  
  
"Daughter." Green eyes flecked with gold turned to her.  
  
"You mean, 'Your Grace', do you not, my lord of Lannister?" Cersei poured a goblet of Arbor gold from a pitcher. "I am Queen."  
  
"I am well aware, daughter." Her father's voice was as controlled as if he were ordering an execution. "I have worked long years to see you crowned. I will not see my work ruined by your weakness."  
  
 _Fall to your knees, he might well come to see if we are truly alright, happen to splash wine on the floor, a strike to the solar plexus, then ram his skull into the corner of the table there hard enough for a subdural hematoma, how tragic that the great Lord Paramount of the Westerlands die such an ignoble death, she always looked ravishing in mourning clothes--_  
  
"Father, if you had endured what I did during my bedding," Cersei said, the goblet steady in her grip, "you would not be so sanguine. The king you have married me to is a sot who screams a dead woman's name when he climaxes."  
  
"The sordid details do not interest me," Tywin said. "Your duty to the realm and the house is to be your lord husband's consort. You will bind him to our house's interests. Am I understood?"  
  
"As clear as crystal." Cersei cocked her head. "Although you didn't make me queen, dear father. It was Robert's warhammer and Lord Arryn's scheming that brought me to this happy state. Gods, your incompetence nearly ruined everything."  
  
"You dare?" The only sign of Tywin's displeasure with a slight flare to his nostrils. Amazing control.  
  
"You sent knights to deal with Elia and the royal brats." Cersei mock-toasted him. "Aunt Genna was right. Men are such thunderous fools. You're lucky our dear Robert has a taste for gore. Come now, the matter could have been handled far more deftly."  
  
"And in your wisdom, you know what should have been done?"  
  
"You should have made them prisoner." Cersei flung a hand to her brow. "Then, oh, how tragic. Elia in her grief at Rhaegar's death poisoned herself and her children. Women have such a talent for hiding small objects on their person. Doubtless she had hidden it up her cunt, the only real use she had for it in life."  
  
A slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes betrayed his shock.  
  
"A rushed, ill-considered plan on your part," Cersei said. "But the king isn't one for subtlety. It worked out well enough. Next time, do consult me beforehand, father."  
  
"I may at that." Tywin regarded her for a long while. "You have...more cunning than I gave you credit for."  
  
"I learned things at court, Father," Cersei said. "I simply did not awake until now. A shock to the system, as it were. Do not worry. I will not fail."  
  
No, she wouldn't.  
  
After all, she had _so many plans now._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, how she loved a hunt! Father always took her along whenever he set the sparkhunds after an escaped prisoner. Sometime he arranged the escape to give the pack some exercise. They were working dogs after all. It was especially fun when chasing one of the Gifted; they were the trickiest and fiercest quarry by far. She would ride beside him while he pointed out a particularly effective gambit she should note for future use. Her first taste of vivisection has been under his eye while she extracted useful organs from what the pack left intact after the kill. Such wonderful childhood memories! She should see about making a pack of her own. There were said to be direwolves north of the Wall. She could have Robert write that dour friend of his in Winterfell to see if pups of the breed could be captured somehow.  
  
Cersei lagged behind the rest of the hunt. The game pursued by her husband could hardly be called challenging. Did he even realize the irony in pursuing a deer? His obsession with mindless killing served her purposes well enough. The winter-touched expanse of the kingswood stretched all around. No walls for watchers to hide behind. The rustling of leaves would mask a voice pitched low. She kept her mount at a trot so that none might catch up to her. The sole Kingsguard on duty was Ser Barristan, who was guarding the king. Dear Jaime was resting in his cell in White Sword Tower. She had argued perfectly reasonably that one of her family's loyal knights would suffice as protection.  
  
Fate had not been kind to Ser Ilyn Payne. His own fault, really. One had to learn to hold one's tongue--hee!--around such as the Mad King. Lest it be disciplined with red-hot pincers. He had never been a handsome man. Now he was a gaunt spectre in grey mail over boiled leather. The fringe of lank hair around his bald head lent him an appropriately skeletal air. Just the sort one wanted for a King's Justice. She had visited him in his chambers in Traitor's Walk two evenings before. He had been the captain of her Father's guards when Tywin had been Hand. Why should she not see how such an ill-done retainer was doing? And if he had given her a most informative tour of the Lord Confessor's domain beneath the black cells, that was none of anyone's business.  
  
"So are we agreed?" Cersei said.  
  
Ser Ilyn croaked. He should lodge in the rookery.  
  
"A Lannister pays his debts," Cersei replied. "Never fear, it can be done. All I ask is for discretion. Keep the undergaolers out of my way. Bring down equipment and whatever other materials I require."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Good man." She patted a cheek marked by a brush with the pox. "We'll have you singing like one of Varys' little birds soon."  
  
Not too soon. An illiterate mute could tell no tales. When she did gift a tongue to him, Cersei wanted to be sure certain measures had been implanted. Drat. It would take her ages to recreate her lovely wasps. Ah, well, there were the cruder methods upon which she had based her finest creations. Cersei spurred her mount down the trail. To have a lab of her own once more. The torture chambers in the depths of the dungeons were perfect. At least three floors above with thick stone all about to mute any suspicious noises. There were convenient outlets to dispose of any waste. She could even rework the dusty instruments--shocking, that kind of neglect--until she crafted new equipment for her experiments.  
  
Robert was dressing a stag hung from a tree branch. Oh, that brought it all back! Once he was housetrained, she had to convince him to allow convicted prisoners the option of a trial by hunt. He worked with a plain hunting knife while the hounds fought over the spilled entrails. It had been a gift from Lord Arryn, apparently. He valued it over all the fine blades in the royal armory. Such loyalty. Such sentimentality. Such utter idiocy. Ser Barristan stood impassively a few strides away. He was the epitome of a silent, watchful sentinel. Several of the red-cloaked Lannister guardsmen her family had assigned to the Red Keep to bolster its defenses had posted themselves around the edges of the clearing.  
  
Cersei leapt off the horse. Be bold. Be a lion. Grinning, she thrust a hand into the wetness of the stag. Robert grunted in surprise when she brought bloody fingers to her mouth. Cersei daintly licked them clean as the chastest maiden kissing her fingerips to savour the last of the sweet. Rouging her lips, she locked hers with a very surprised king`s. Teeth snapped tight around her husband`s lower lip. He growled low as she drew his blood. Gore-spattered hands locked around the waist of her new riding habit. Quite chic. She had spent ages teaching the seamstress to make something beyond the Renaissance. Cersei glanced to one side. Ser Barristan and the red cloaks had turned their backs on their charges. Good.  
  
"You nasty minx." Robert chuckled. "And here I thought you were colder than the Wall."  
  
"I am a lioness," Cersei hissed, grinding against him. "I enjoy my meat bloody and raw."  
  
"Up against that tree, wench," the king growled.   
  
"Oh no, my stag." Cersei deftly wriggled about, steering herself away from the trunk. "You expect to take me like one of your whores up against a tavern wall? Better I put you on your back in the leaves."  
  
"Think you can--UFF!" Startled, Robert glared up at her from the ground. "That was a foul trick you'll pay for."  
  
"It is not my fault, my lord, that you can't keep balance." Of course, she'd noted exactly where that root had been concealed amid the underbrush. Cersei tossed her golden mane. "Oh, my. Should I plait blue roses in my locks?"  
  
Robert's stiffened.  
  
"I apologize, husband." Cersei bowed her head. "You mourn her still. I--I had thought if I could be like her in some way--"  
  
"A thousand times a night I beat Rhaegar down," Robert said. "And never can I beat him. Gods be good, I loved Lyanna. What's the damned crown worth if she is gone?"  
  
"I understand more than you know," Cersei said. "I, too, have known loss. My mother. My dearest friend Melara, who died too young. The Stranger is the cruelest of the Seven."  
  
"Ah, Cerse, you're not to be blamed." Catching one wrist, he drew her down into his embrace. "Lost my own father and mother. Watched their ship break up within sight of Storm's End."  
  
"We've both been ill-used by fate," Cersei murmured. "I know I am not the one you love. I understand. It is my duty to absorb the hurt of your grief. The pain fades in time."  
  
"Damn me for a fool." Robert kissed her fiercely. "I swear, Cerse, I won't do that again. If I drink that much, well, I'll tup some wench who's up for the rough. I swear."  
  
How endearing, in an idiotic way.  
  
"Let us start anew." Cersei buried her head in his shoulder. "Let yourself grieve for your wild wolf girl. Come to me when you've lanced the wound."  
  
"I swear, Cerse." Robert hugged her with a bear's strength.   
  
Good, now he would leave her alone long enough to start work.  
  
How foolish she had been, thinking to scorn him as punishment. That wasn't the way. Father had taught her better.  
  
You always find the knife already buried deep in the target's heart--  
  
\--and **twist.**


	4. Chapter 4

Lysa cradled her belly. Gone, when the cramps had seized her upon the garderobe half-a-moon's turn ago. She should have known what happening. It had been the same when she had drunk the poisoned cup that had murdered her first child. The only relief was her husband spurning her bed. She did not have to endure the stench of his breath while he strived to plant a seed in what he called her "spoiled garden". It was, wasn't it? She was a kinslayer, destroying the sweet robin within her by tansy and pennyroyal and wormwood.  
  
It was such a relief to enter the Red Keep's godswood. Such happy days she had had in Riverrun's, playing with sister Cat and her Petyr. She had come to the Red Keep's godswood for solace a few times since Jon had become Hand. Although the small forest of alder and elm overlooking the Blackwater Rush had been almost chopped completely down. Where once had been trees were now beds awaiting flowers and shrubs arranged in stark lines. What bushes remained of those once planted in Aegon the Conqueror's time had been pruned into fantastical shapes. Only the heart-tree remained untouched. The smokeberry vines that had once twined about it had been cut away. All around it were waist-high hedges that had been arranged into a maze of angular, twisting paths.  
  
It was the Queen's work. Lysa swallowed her nervousness while she bumbled through the hedge-maze. She and Cersei Baratheon were of an age. But they were nothing alike. The minstrels sang of the love between her and the king. They rode together through the streets and at hunt at least twice a week. Such a difference between her marriage and Lysa's barren bed. Around her was a Queen's Court of a sophistication not seen in the realm since Daeron the Good: poets and architects and clever men from across the narrow sea, as well as aspiring ladies and knights of the realm. It had been at her urging that the slums of Flea Bottom, so damaged in the sack, had been cleared away. The poor townsfolk had been granted land across the Rush for a new town to be linked by a bridge.  
  
Lysa's heart jumped when the Queen favored her with a brilliant smile. She sat at a small table inlaid with a chequey pattern. The pieces upon it were not that of draughts. Instead, they were the new game called "thrones" that had sprung from the Queen's mind. It was said that she had invented it while watching Lord Lannister when he was Hand. The Queen toyed with the white throne piece, flanked by its hand, as it was flanked by lords and septons and maesters. The ranks of knights were arrayed across the rank before the major pieces. Jon was obsessed with it. Her brother Jaime stood guard beside her, spotless in white armor and cloak. A maid in the mixed livery of Baratheon and Lannister assumed by the court waited silently next to a tea-pot warming on a brazier.  
  
"Goodsister," the Queen said. "I hope you do not mind me claiming that honour. My husband sees Lord Arryn as his father. That makes us sisters."  
  
"You do me honour to think of me as such," Lysa replied. She plucked a pastry from a tray proffered by the maid, yet another to fill the empty void that was her belly.  
  
"Just one, darling, otherwise you'll go to fat," the Queen chided. She unfolded a fan. Strange, as it was still winter-chill. "Do you like what I've done with the godswood?"  
  
"It is very different, my lady," Lysa said.  
  
"Yes. No trees save this one for birds to nest in," the Queen said casually. "Thick walls all around, the tops covered with spikes and broken glass. Some blocks have had their mortar weakened as a fun surprise. If you hold your fan up like so--here's one, you wouldn't have thought to bring one yourself--we can speak without any pesky lip-readers."  
  
Despite the chill, sweat beaded Lysa's brow.  
  
"Goodsister, you're a trout used to rivers and lakes." The Queen spun the hand's piece between deft fingers. "You are swimming in much deeper waters now."  
  
"M-my lady, please." Gods be good, there was talk of this. The Red Keep was notorious for it. "I can't. Not upon my husband. I said vows before the Seven."  
  
"And she passed the test!" The Queen winked at the Kingslayer. "No, no, although everyone will assume it. It will be a cover for the tasks I will lay upon you, should you prove capable. Was that your first miscarriage, by the by?"  
  
"I--" Lysa shook. How did she know?  
  
"Varys tittered in my ear," the Queen said. "Some discreet enquiries here and there. Indications. Your father's hesitation in marrying off what should be a prize catch: an unspoiled Tully maid."  
  
"Please don't tell," Lysa said. "It is unbearable already to be shamed in my father's eyes and my husband's regard."  
  
"Blackmail is for amateurs, darling." The Queen accepted a cup of tea. "No, I want to help you, goodsister. I was a very curious child. Explored everywhere in the Red Keep. It's famous for its hidden passages."  
  
The maid's sleeve slipped back, revealing a circle of stitching.  
  
"Do you like Pia?" The Queen said. "I made her myself. Old sorceries from Valyrian days long forgotten by the Targaryens, prattle by that drunk Red Priest about the powers of his god. _Do you understand, my little trout?_ "  
  
A terrified whine escaped Lysa.  
  
" _Drink the tea, goodsister, we can't have you breaking down._ " The Queen's voice deepened. Resonated. " _A concoction of my devising. Sweeter than tansy. Serve me and you will have children strong and proud and beautiful. Heirs to make your father proud of you once more. Do you swear to serve your true Queen by the gods old and new?"  
  
_ "My lady, I swear." The fan in Lysa's hand rattled like the wind through winter branches. "By the gods old and new, by my mother's grave and the love of my father. By the honour of my house. Bring my sweet robins to nest."  
_  
_ "A Lannister pays her debts," the Queen said. "And I do understand. More than anyone, I know how important children are the future."  
_  
_ The Queen's word was good. The terror rising within her was stilled by the tea. Lysa returned to her chambers in the Tower of the Hand with a steady step and a firm heart. Her prayers had been answered. She knew in the depths of her soul that the Queen would perform the promised miracle. How could anyone doubt such a radiant, glorious woman? Her very words brought conviction of her power. The realm had no idea how blessed it was that she had ascended to stand beside King Robert.  
_  
_ Petyr. Clever, clever Petyr who was languishing in his tiny holdfast in the Fingers. He was wasted there. She must send word to him! Wonderful Petyr with his deft tongue and clever fingers. Lysa shuddered. There was a servant worthy of the Queen. She could pass on the Queen's request to contact the Alchemist's Guild under the guise of seeking help for her infertility. Dear Petyr could arrange it so much more quietly than herself. Yes. The Queen would be well-pleased with that.  
  
++++++  
  
" _ **AHAHAHAHA! SO DROLL!**_ " Cersei cackled. " _ **MY 'GOODSISTER'? RED FIRE, IT'S FITTING HER HOME NOW IS THE EYRIE. LYSA TULLY IS A NATURAL GULL!"**_  
  
"No...more..." Jaime gasped.  
  
"Darling, I am so sorry." Cersei's wicked grin belied her words. "Here, let me undo the straps. There. I just become so aroused when another piece of the puzzle slides into place."  
  
"And what shape does it take, sweet sister?" Jaime rubbed the circulation back into his limbs.  
  
"That would be teeeeelllinnnnnng." Cersei trailed fingers down his naked chest. "So much better than that bear Father saddled me with. Although Robert's cranial capacity comes with one advantage."  
  
"And what plans are you hatching now?" Jaime asked.  
  
"Lots of space. Your brain will fit in easily." Cersei giggled. "Yours into Robert's, his into--hmmm, not a deer--yes, a boar! A gross, rutting boar we'll set loose in the kingswood."  
  
Jaime could not help but laugh along with his sweet sister. He could see it now. Oh, gods be damned, he could see it. He laughed long and loud with Cersei so that it not turn to screams. Their glee echoed off the walls of what had been the Lord's Confessor's Chambers. Now it was her lair. Her "laboratory". Another of the foreign words that had possessed her. Flameless oil lamps behind globes of green-frosted glass cast an eerie light. Long wooden tables crowded with retorts and alembics and odder things worthy of an Archmaester were scattered about the room. Others in the lair contained forges, workshops, or rows of copper and glass vessels where her maids waited to be decanted. Every visit was something new, or another new room carved out beneath Traitor's Walk.  
  
Cersei lounged beneath the Rain Engine, beckoning with an imperious gesture. Jaime could not help following under the stream. He was helpless as always. Cersei was his twin. His match. His shadow and light. She was wildfire consuming him. At least, that was what she had once been. Now she was something he could not name. A wild spark had flashed to life in her. She was a woman grown to amazing, terrifying proportions. Everyone thought she was another schemer in the game of thrones. Here in her lair was her true game revealed. She delighted in sharing it with him, vain and proud and magnificent.  
  
"I would never do it," Cersei said, once they were done beneath the Rain Engine. "You are perfect as you are."  
  
"And you, more than perfect," Jaime said.  
  
"Flatterer." Cersei kissed him deep. "I miss having you. Nights can be so lonely, when you are in your sleeping cell and Robert is off to fuck a kitchen girl. I may invite Lysa to join me. We can whisper together, like in the old days when I and Serpentina and Demonica were young."  
  
"You mean Melara and Jeyne," Jaime said.  
  
"No, no. Our sisters." Cersei froze. "Oh. Dear, I'm slipping, aren't I? Yes, not them. I only have you and that nasty little imp of a brother."  
  
"Who are you?" Jaime whispered. "You're not Cersei. Don't try to fool me, whatever you are."  
  
"Jaime, no, I'm her," the woman before him said. "I forget at times. Her life is so real to me. But I am ever your sister, forever and always--"  
  
"You are not!" Jaime seized her by her shoulders, hands close to her throat. "My sister never knew these things! You're nothing--"  
  
Cersei's elbow blurred up between them to drive into his chin.  
  
" _Never touch me there, like that."_ Cersei's green eyes were alight with terror and rage. _"Never put your hands upon my neck. The_ valonquar _will never touch me. He will--never--"_  
  
Cersei trembled.  
  
_"Maggy the Frog. You fucking devious_ **bitch.** "


	5. Chapter 5

Stupid, stupid, stupid!  
  
What a fool she had been. She had blindly trusted a prophecy from a vindictive sorceress as if had been _The Seven-Pointed Star_. Others eat her eyes, she despaired of the girl she had been before the gods had gifted her with insights from another world. Now she knew better. Prophecies were weapons. They were the tools of the oracles pronouncing them rather than wisdom received by the recipient. Had not the Mongfishes and Knights of Jove been collaborating on a prophecy created as an intricate revenge by Andronicus Valois? Cersei had willingly granted the woman her blood. And what more sure prophecy than a curse meant to punish a lion cub's arrogance?  
  
What a grand jape that witch had played upon her. She had chosen just the right word to confuse matters: _valonqar._ The "little brother" must be the hated Imp. Only it could also mean a younger brother. Jaime had followed her into this world clutching her heel. Maggy must have saw the gifting of the gods, and her beloved twin killing her by not understanding the change. Or, gods be damned, it might be the Imp after all. She might be driving away the very one who would be her shield. Wait. "The" valonqar--did it have to be either of her brothers? What if it was her father's younger brothers sent against her because of perceived defiance? Or Robert's brothers? Had not her husband prated on and on about Eddard Stark being as close as a brother?  
  
Too many interpretations. Too many ambiguities.   
  
Jaime's arms folded around her. Cersei leaned into his embrace without fear. Not yet. No, the spice-merchant's wife's doom would not happen yet. Crowns and shrouds for her children, though right now she felt as if all of Westeros could drown in her tears. Ha! If she felt then as she suffered now, could not hands about her throat be a mercy? Hmmm. "Hand". A sly reference to the Hand of the King? No. She would not think of any of it. Cersei lost herself in her twin's touch. Maggy would not spoil this. Her corruption would not touch it.   
  
Even if Cersei had to hunt her down and put her living brain in a bath of acid.  
  
"You are yourself again, sweet sister," Jaime said.  
  
"Unhappy? Weak?" Cersei replied. "I am your sister now and always. The gods' gift change that not a jot."  
  
"Who is she who rules your thoughts?" Jaime asked. "Is it a demon? A ghost? A skinchanger, like the ones said to possess the bodies of beasts north of the Wall?"  
  
"The Other is me," Cersei said. "Brother mine, you have heard of chimerae. I am a chimera--Cersei and Lucrezia alloyed as one being."  
  
"Is she some sorceress?" Jaime said. "You were no delver into mysteries, my sweet Cersei. You were too intent on sneaking into sword lessons while I sat in your dresses sewing with the septa."  
  
"Oh, now there's an idea--ah, yes, not the time," Cersei said. "Lucrezia of the House Mongfish from lands far, far away was a Spark. Grumkins in human flesh. She was the greatest of her time. A seductress and rebel who commanded the ways of flesh and mind."  
  
"The woman you dreamed of being," Jaime said. "How you raged against the cages woman are locked into."  
  
"Darling, she is beyond anything I could have imagined," Cersei said. Her wave encompassed the lair. "This is pitiful compared to her full powers. Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters and his dragons and his armies could not have stood against her."  
  
"And what will you do, sweet sister, with that power?" Jaime leaned back. "Sometimes, of late, I see a flicker of what was in Aerys' eyes when the wildfire burned bright."  
  
Oh gods, she was right, he had been kingslayer, why not kinslayer, _kill him now he was close--_  
  
_**No.**_  
  
_"Aerys was a weak, pathetic fool who gibbered his way to his doom."_ Cersei rose. " _I am not one to be consumed by the fires. I am their **Mistress. I will be Queen. I will show my father I am his trueborn daughter and heir to his legacy. The realm will bear my impress. No-one will remember the dragons.**_  
  
_**"And I will not be a victim."**_  
  
"And I?" Jaime asked. "Where is there position for me in all this?"  
  
"My brother, my only love." Cersei flung a hand dramatically to her brow. "Wherever will I find someone I can gloat to freely? You're indispensable to me."  
  
"And a lovely fuck, I'm sure." Jaime's smirk answered her own.  
  
"For sure," Cersei agreed. "Come. We must be about our duties."  
  
This was a respite. Her brother was no fool. He would wonder about her prating about valonqar and Maggy the Frog. No matter. It would be dealt with in time. He dressed in the court armour of the Kingsguard while she readied herself for the evening. One of her twice-weekly salons of her court was being held in the Queen's Ballroom. Her silent maids clad her in Europan-cut smallclothes, stays, and an elegant low-cut gown of red-and-gold. The patchwork constructs were the best she could do with the "mad alchemy" that was possible in this period. A dullard's intelligence, but endowed with monstrous strength. Cersei tucked a five-shot blackpowder pepper-box pistol into an inconspicuous fold of her dress. Various poisoned pins and rings were festooned about her person.  
  
Jaime sketched a mocking bow before offering his arm. Cersei tapped a certain pattern on the stonework. The wall swung wide, opening onto a secret passage. Lucrezia had been an old hand at hidden halls. And the Red Keep was nothing compared to that chatty castle in Mechanicsburg. She had blocked off the existing ones Maegor's unfortunate servants had carved about Traitor's Walk. Her additions followed a different path. They were also infested with traps of her own creation. She idly disarmed and re-armed them as the two of them passed. Several others had been placed about the existing secret passages. Quite a few had been set off. The pools of blood were larger than those that might have been left by rats. Dear Varys. She hoped he enjoyed her little surprises.  
  
Burn and freeze in the seven hells, witch-woman. You might have tasted my morrows. But you do not know my power. Fate is for lesser beings. I am a lioness and heir to Lucrezia. My children die? That can be dealt with. Another queen supplant me? Oh ho, who is that truly staring from behind her eyes? And if it all goes awry-- Well. Lucrezia's lifetime had been one long lesson in dealing with foiled plots and destroyed lairs. Sometimes one simply has to activate the doomsday device, incinerate the surrounding landscape, and start over. There was always the Free Cities to conquer. Cersei was planning to get around to them someday, after all.  
  
The two came out upon the gallery overlooking the Queen's Ballroom. Cersei beheld her subjects with satisfaction. Poets and scholars, traders and bravos, all the ambitious ones eager for time in their young Queen's regard milled about the floor as musicians played behind a screen. Silver mirrors behind the wall sconces reflected torchlight back until it was twice as bright. She must introduce gas-lighting. Much easier to rig to extinguish itself so that she might skulk way from threats. The atmosphere was sophisticated enough to pique the jaded tastes of Lyseni and Tyroshi. Her triumph was only beginning.  
  
Cersei idly stroked her throat.  
  
...and perhaps practice holding her breath and playing dead, just in case.


	6. Chapter 6

The begging brother slipped through the streets of King's Landing in the midst of the storm. The downpour kept even the new Goldcloaks from patrolling too much. Even so, men of the city watch of the capitol were seen marching purposefully rather than hiding in winesinks against the misery of the night. Their new commander Ser Tygett Lannister had brought in seasoned veterans of the Lannisport Watch to replace the officers killed in the sack or sent to the Wall. The new recruits were drilled mercilessly and tested constantly for corruption. Those who had failed the tests ended up as heads on spikes upon the gates of the city walls.   
  
The hunched figure in the brown robe slipped into a stable. Old straw was swept away in a particular stall. The begging brother lit an oil lamp after closing the trap door. The dim light illuminated the slanting earthen passage beneath Rhaenys' Hill. Silently, the brother climbed the iron rungs leading up a shaft at the far end of the concealed passage. At the top he rapped on the wooden panel above in a particular pattern. From the other side came an answering series of knocks. The brother slide aside the panel with a sigh of relief.  
  
The turret room atop the brothel was a small one with a great canopied bed and the wardrobe containing the entrance to the tunnel. A window of red-and-gold leaded glass brought little light in save for the odd flash of lightning. The begging brother favored it an amused glance. The Hand who had dug the shaft and tunnel with westermen miners sworn to secrecy had a streak of vanity that lead him to sign his work. It was of a piece with his cunning, which was more limited than he supposed. After all, he had constantly been outmaneuvered by the Mad King of all people. Alas, the daughter was far more able than the father. The begging brother shuddered.  
  
Sitting at a table lit by a single taper was a vast bulk of a man--more a beached whale--who was constantly sampling from a plate of pungent cheeses. The still-luxuriant mane of yellow hair upon his head was matched in extravagance by his forked beard. Ah, his old friend was not the slim bravo he had known all those years ago. Life as a cheesemonger and then magister had swollen his body to match his endless appetites. The begging brother lifted back his hood to reveal the features of the Master of Whispers of King Robert's court. His co-conspirator Illyrio Mopatis proffered him cheese and a goblet of Arbor red.  
  
"No, old friend, I cannot indulge," Varys said.  
  
"Eat and drink, you deny yourself much," Illyrio replied. "I am only peckish myself, the terrible journey across the sea has left me with no taste at all."  
  
"I need all my wits about me," Varys said. "It is best you leave immediately after we finish out business. I am not sure that I was not followed."  
  
"'An oaf' you said," Illyrio complained. "'All we must do is wait some more time to let the rot spread'."  
  
"The Queen is a more formidable enemy than I ever expected," Varys admitted. "She smiles at me in small council. Yet I know it is she who has netted my little birds and laced the passages with traps. My web is frayed indeed."  
  
"Poison?" Illyrio suggested. "Or perhaps a sellsail might take her if she takes ship one day."  
  
"Not so easy as that," Varys said. "I urge you to flee Pentos with the boy and his protectors. It is too close. Quarth or Leng may be safer."  
  
"So far--"  
  
The two of them stiffened as they heard the distinctive shouts of watchmen, and the thud of hobnailed boots climbing stairs.  
  
The magister moved to the hidden passage with the speed, if not the grace, of his old days as a water dancer. Varys took taper and plate with him as he followed, to obscure the fact that there had been any meeting at all. Closing the panel, he descended with the lantern extinguished to betray no light from between the boards of the back of the wardrobe. His breath hissed with a fear that he had not felt in ages. How had she known? He had changed disguises five times over the past few hours while winding his way across half the city. She was not human. He stepped down into softness.  
  
Into the spilled intestines of Illyrio Mopatis.  
  
Varys discovered what had happened to his little birds. They had tongues now. And such sharp sharp teeth.  
  
"Now now, darlings," came the accursed voice from down the tunnel. "Leave enough room for the eunuch. And do leave the heads intact."


	7. Chapter 7

*BLOOP*  
  
A clockwork spring unwound, driving bellows through aerated fluid.  
  
*BLOOP*  
  
Another spun a pump that sent strange fluids through tubes of blown glass.  
  
*BLOOP*  
  
*ZZZZZT*  
  
Through fine copper wires that disappeared through a shaven pate, electrical currents sent life-giving impulses into the brain of the head within the glass jar.  
  
Eyelids fluttered open.  
  
Horror filled them as what had once been Varys took in his surroundings.  
  
Red lips smirked as Cersei leaned over to tap on the glass.  
  
She loved this part ever so much.  
  
++++  
  
"Gods be damned, Varys is a Blackfyre?" Jon Arryn said, staring in horror at the Master of Whispers' confession.  
  
"Perhaps he was, hidden in the mummer's show," Cersei replied. "More likely he was a Blackfyre's bastard's bastard. In truth, he served neither the red dragon nor the black. Quite the idealist was our Varys."  
  
"Was."  
  
"The methods my servitors used to put him to the question were stressful," Cersei said. "All to the best. A trial would be a public embarrassment. Keeping such a viper on the small council when he was the one who poured vitriol into the Mad King's ear? One might question the competence of whomever advised that."  
  
"If high servants are summarily arrested and executed," Jon Arryn said, "then there are those who would whisper that our court is no better than Aerys."  
  
"What I did, I did for the realm." Cersei tittered. "Peace, my lord Hand. My hirelings were discreet. Varys and the cheesemonger are more like than not feeding the hungry in some bowl of brown. Only you and I have the evidence that reveals your misstep in sparing the eunuch."  
  
Jon Arryn cocked his head akin to the falcon of his house arms.  
  
"Since twelve, I have been at court observing my lord father and the greatest minds of the realm," Cersei said. "It is my deepest wish to continue the great works my father. I have proven myself more than capable in the past year in the rebuilding of King's Landing."  
  
"That you have. Your court is a credit to His Grace."  
  
"I am capable of more than hosting balls and entertainments," Cersei replied. "Oh, I would never dream of replacing you, my lord Hand. I pray to the Seven that your service continue for a long time, in spite of your years. But I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, of the blood of the Kings of the Rock. I have as much right to sit as sovereign in the stead of my husband when he is, shall we say, distracted."  
  
"I see," Jon Arryn said. "It would be His Grace's decision. I am but his servant."  
  
"A leal one indeed. One who has such wisdom." Cersei idly touched a parchment. "I'm sure you have the wisdom to see the sense in my proposal."  
  
"Should His Grace declare it so, who am I to oppose him?" Jon Arryn said. "My queen, if you excuse me, I have matters to attend to. A vacancy to fill."  
  
Jon Arryn bent down over his papers in the most polite dismissal he could manage. Cersei allowed him that slight disrespect in the moment of her triumph. After all, she needed the Lord of the Vale right where he was. Her husband would never replace his foster father with another. Oh, it would have been child's play to remove Arryn with the resources at her disposal. She had so many more subtle substances than heart's bane or the tears of Lys in her laboratory. A little anthrax sprinkled on his pillow would leave him dead without anyone to suspect it was nothing more than a chill. But, no. Her darling father would expect his daughter to influence Robert to bring him back to the Tower of the Hand. That would be most inconvenient. Dear Tywin would simply get in the way.  
  
Cersei savored the pleasurable soreness between her thighs as she descended the steps of the tower. Sweet lighnting, it had been glorious being in at a kill after so long. The kisses she had shared with her brother after poor Melara had come a cropper down that well had never been so heated. Heeee! Cersei had been so aroused after her frank chat with Varys and Illyrio that she had not minded finding a drunken Robert snoring in her bed. He had sobered up very quickly after she had applied certain pressure point techniques that had never failed to increase dear Klaus' libido. He really was good in his own crude, bumbling way. Not at all like her brother, but then one didn't eat peacock with every meal. At times it was good to sample pork. The oaf had been grateful enough that he had not even looked at the parchment to which he had attached seal and signature.  
  
She paused at a window to regard the fruits of her work. Across the Blackwater, the New Town was rising behind walls meant to defend the smallfolk of King`s Landing in case of attack. It also served as a convenient method of penning in the common herd, as it were, in case the mood of the mob went against her for some reason. Being forced to pay coppers every day to the ferries--whose monopolies were in men she had hand-picked--would grant her yet another stream of coin that would keep her independent of her father`s purse and the allowance granted her by the royal household. She had quite a few trickles going. Amazing what some quiet investment and leaking mundane pieces of Europan science could do. The Street of Steel owed her much for the air-crucible. They paid handsomely for it.  
  
Oh, gods be good. She had to gloat. She had to!  
  
Minutes later, Cersei slipped into her laboratory beneath Traitor`s Walk. She paused to check to see how her dear Lysa was doing. The Tully girl lay abed hooked up to a crude alchemical healing engine puffing away to her body. Cersei had had to replace her womb entirely. Seven hells, what fool of a maester had brewed the moon`s tea that had aborted her bastard? The overdose had rendered the uterus incapable of bearing a healthy babe. Not that the falcon lord's weak seed would help. Not all the galvanic essence in the world could animate his little swimmers into a semblance of motility. Oh, that reminded her. The child. Cersei turned to the great glass jar dominating the room. Fondly, she cupped the clear glass as she peered into the murky fluid to the precious thing growing within.  
  
"Joffrey," Cersei whispered. "My lovely, lovely son."  
  
"You--" Mad laughter came from the cranial jar in the corner. The mechanisms within the pillar it sat upon granted unwanted life to the shaven head inside. "Cuckoo in the nest."  
  
"Pot and kettle, darling," Cersei replied. "Daring indeed, to plan to gull the Seven Kingdoms and the Golden Company both into accepting a Lyseni pillow-house's slut as the Blackfyre returned."  
  
"He would have been the perfect prince," Varys said.  
  
"Men. All of you romantics." Cersei patted the cranial jar. "How do you like my little plan? Lysa bares my babe as her own, while I implant a convenient bastard of Robert's into mine? And in ten years, they are betrothed. Nice and neat, and no-one the wiser."  
  
Varys was crying silently.  
  
It was good to be Queen.


	8. Chapter 8

  
Court was the bane of Jaime's existence even more than it was for his king. Robert could no doubt ponder the latest whore whose cunt he had plundered while a petitioner droned on. A Kingsguard could not allow his attention to waver. It was one thing to be a kingslayer by deed. It was quite another to lose a king through inattention. He might have soiled his pretty white cloak. By the gods, he would not be thought incompetent.  
  
Jaime's gaze flicked from the courtier to Robert to the small crowd standing by the walls of the Great Hall. Was that palace guard seeming a little too interested in the distance between his post and the throne? Was there a shadow high above who might be carefully stringing a crossbow? All the lessons taught by Arthur and Llewyn and even Barristan urged him to search for the threat that would some day come.  
  
Of course, he knew exactly where the threat came from. His sweet sister sat upon a chair on a step just below the seat of the Iron Thorne. It escaped no-one that she was placed at Robert's right hand. None of the barbs of the Iron Throne were as sharp as the smile she directed at Lord Jon Arryn where he sat at the small council table as the Hand. When the petitioner finished, it was to Cersei that he leaned close for first counsel before calling down to the small council.  
  
Near the throne, Lysa Arryn had a smile near as cutting as she looked upon her husband's castration. Her belly was swollen with a healthy child. Jaime had heard there had been quite a row in private over Lysa's insistence of naming the unborn boy "Joffrey" in honor of the Queen's Lannister heritage. If only the Lord of the Aerie knew the depths of his cuckolding. The Kingslayer's son would one day rule the Vale while the Arryn line was tossed out of its own seat. As a heir to Lann the Clever, Jaime could not help think it a fitting jape on his sister's part.  
  
A booming laugh echoed about the Great Hall. Cersei's cackle joined him, A gasp that was half-horror and half-amusement. The king had brazenly drawn his queen into his lap. Cersei did not seem to notice that ribbons and spikes of dragon-forged steel all around her. Robert threw his head back as she nuzzled at his neck. Jaime's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. He knew his sister all too well. Was there poison on a blade, waiting for her to accidentally push him just so? No. Cersei would do that. She would not kill Robert while Jaime was on watch. They had agreed upon that.  
  
"Ah, Cerse, you minx!" Robert roared. "This is why I swore off all other women. It is true. The lasses at Chattaya's pine for me."  
  
"How boring." Cersei flashed the court a smirk. "I did so like to watch."  
  
"No, no, I mean it," Robert said, above the tittering from the crowd. "My friends, this wonderful woman saved me from despair. She has raised our city from a midden heap to the envy of the world."  
  
"Oh, you shouldn't." Cersei caressed his clean-shaven face. "Wait. How silly. Do go on about how amazing I am."  
  
"I could list your virtues all day, my love," Robert said. "And I would not come close to saying them all. I cannot give you enough to show how much I care for you. I can only hope this poor gift will suffice."  
  
"Oh, Robert you--" Cersei opened the scroll of parchment. Her eyes bulged out. "You are naming me WHAT?"  
  
"Crownlanders!" Robert boomed. "Bend your knee to your liege lady, Queen Cersei the Good, Lady of King's Landing, and Lady-Paramount of the Crowlands."  
  
"Robert, this is gilding the lily indeed," Cersei said.  
  
"Would that I could raise you to rule as my equal," Robert said.  
  
For the briefest moment, his sister's mask slipped to reveal horror and shock.  
  
Jaime flicked his attention to the Hand, who regarded his foster son with equal surprise.  
  
"But as Lady-Paramount, you may sit in this damned chair as if you were king." Robert settled her into place, retreating down the steps. "Bend the knee. Your king commands. Hail the Queen!"  
  
All the audience in this day's court were crownlords and high men from King's Landing. Jaime had been so intent on danger that he had missed that. So had his sister. Cersei sat amid the barbs of the Iron Throne like the reigning queen she would never be. Jaime had learned well to read her moods after the change. To the outside world, the face she presented to the world was her father reborn. Within? Robert consoled his boredom with rutting.  
  
His sister had altogether sharper fantasies when disappointed.  
  
Her new vassals stayed on bent knee as Cersei closed court with radiant dignity. Arm in arm, Robert and Cersei left through the door to one side of the Throne that lead into the Red Keep. Jaime counted down. At twenty she laid a hand to her brow excusing herself. She must retire to deal with the immensity of the gift she had been granted. Robert kissed her warmly. There was only the slightest hint of stiffness when she responded with all the ardor she usually granted her husband.  
  
Jaime checked for any watchers when his sister stopped by a suit of armor in a hallway. No-one save her little mice in the shadows saw the slab of stone behind it revolved soundlessly in place. It spun to conceal the hidden passage the moment they passed through. Jaime stayed near his sister as she absently disarmed traps on her way down. This was one of their less-trodden paths to her lair beneath Traitor's Walk. Jaime did not know all of the devices she had sown here as he did the others.  
  
The green globes of her flameless lamps cast a sickly light when she entered. Cersei did not drag him to the bed as she was wont to do. Instead, she divested herself of robes of state to take up the robes of physic. Clad in a white coat, she washed her hands before putting on rubber gloves. Steel glittered as instruments that would have horrified a lord-confessor were laid out on a metal tray.  
  
" _It is high time that I paid my debt to Ser Ilyn,_ " Cersei said. " _Do be a dear and fetch him._ "  
  
"Should I have him bring a condemned man from the black cells?" Jaime asked.  
  
" _I am in a more productive mood._ " Cersei rummaged in a cabinet from which wafted cold fog. " _Hmm. Yes. New tongue, sublingual stinger, manticore venom sacs--_ "  
  
"Sister, Ser Ilyn has been leal," Jaime said. "So perhaps you might better make another man scream and bleed in place of his grace."  
  
" ** _He outmaneuvered me. Me! I ensnared the Spider himself!_** :" Cersei gestured wildly ar the bricked-up alcove where Varys now unlived. " ** _He is a sot! A boar! A rutting useful idiot who--who-_** "  
  
Cersei slapped a palm over her face.  
  
"Gods. Robert is not in fact stupid." Cersei slumped in a chair. "Seven hells, the man has actually been paying attention. I _reformed_ him into competency."  
  
"Sister, you now rank with the Tyrells and our own father," Jaime said. "You have been granted command of the capital and all the crownlands save the narrow sea houses."  
  
"But I wanted all the realm to crawl on their bellies to me." Cersei blew an errant blonde lock away from her eyes. "Well, at least I won't have to set off all the buried wildfire to distract everyone while I make my escape."  
  
Jaime froze.  
  
"Of course I found out, you honorable idiot," Cersei said. "Aerys was very much like the more dimwitted Sparks I fought with Bill. Naturally a cornered rat like him would have a scheme to take everyone else with him."  
  
"I--I thought it was luck," Jaime admitted, "that none of the construction disturbed his fruits."  
  
"Wildfire exudes alchemical byproducts as it ages," Cersei said. "I had minions with certain devices scour the city. The caches buried in several feet of sand to contain them."  
  
"That was why you had half the city dug up," Jaime said.  
  
"That and this city needed proper sewerage." Cersei smiled. "Hmmm. I own half a million souls, along with however many there are in the mainland crownlands."  
  
"As Lady-Paramount, you could have a seat of your own," Jaime mused.  
  
"Brother! You have some wits about you." Cersei clapped her hands. "The Dragonpit is just sitting there. I was plotting to expand it into a secret lair to replace this one. But now I can be far more overt."  
  
"I hope there you have some small cell for me," Jaime said.  
  
"Heee! I have a holdfast to design." Cersei reached for paper and pen. "Brother, have Ser Ilyn come down in half an hour. Yes, I will use anaesthetic."  
  
"Shall there be anything else?" Jaime asked.  
  
"Yes. Slip this into his grace's cup." Cersei handed him a tiny phial. "Worry not, it won't kill him. Merely make him a bit sore in his testicles."  
  
"That is all he will suffer for checking your ambitions?"  
  
"I think sterilizing him will do." Cersei grinned. "He has had six-and-ten bastards. Let him be unable to sire any more, or any trueborn children. No child of his will be his heir."  
  
Jaime closed his hand about the phial.  
  
"I think perhaps I should get closer with my dear, dour goodbrother." Cersei cackled. "Oh, this will be so much funnier than grinding Robert's bones to make my tea. Now, off you go. We can't keep Ilyn waiting for his reward."  



	9. Time Out

 

 

It was soothing to be at her Work once again.

 

Oh, how she loved the plotting and the deception and the chicanery. It was so deeply satisfying to tweak the noses of all those men who thought of her as little more than a talented broodmare. That was all a queen truly was even in her father's eyes. She was there to spit out heirs and spares from her cunt. But in the end, all the plotting in the world was nothing compared to the power that blazed in her mind. It was the power to sculpt flesh like clay, to forge wonders from common materials, to _impose her very will upon the universe_. There was peace being shut up in her lab scalpel in hand. Repairing Ser Ilyn hardly engaged her Spark beyond a slight dip into fugue, even adding the refinements that would let him launch manticore venom like a spitting viper. It was still enjoyable in ways that Father simply would not understand to lose herself in the Work once more. Almost as enjoyable as that dratted husband of hers clutching his balls when an "infection" that would be blamed on whatever whore he had fucked last before his inconvenient declaration of fidelity destroyed any chance of legacy.

 

The Lady-Paramountcy of the Crownlands was a lovely gift. But she simply couldn't let his thwarting of her ambitions pass.

 

There were principles to uphold, after all.

 

Cersei checked the graft where the stump of the old was mated to the new. Even a Europan doctor could not have spotted it. All Ser Ilyn had to do was dramatically cry out in the Great Sept of Baelor of the miracle visited on him by the Seven in One. The gods had been very generous. Why, they had even removed all his pox scars. Truly, the gods smiled on those who were leal to their Mistresses. Of course, if Ser Ilyn's tongue loosened in the same manner that had prompted its loss with red-hot pincers? The man might find himself choked by said tongue even when put harshly to the question about his Mistress' secrets.

 

Stripping off bloodstained gloves, Cersei decided it was time to give up the scheming. It was time to cement what gains she had. The paramountcy of the Crownlands granted her military and economic resources that she could never truly command with her old web of intrigue. She actually had bannermen at her beck and call. Naturally, she would have to slowly exterminate the existing crownland houses before she could count on them. One could never be sure about where their loyalties lay. Some might yearn from the Targaryens or think to leap over her authority by appealing to the king. There would have to be a few discoveries of treasonous revanchism for the old regime. Then there were the inevitable hunting accidents, bandit attacks, and the ever-popular sudden illness. The crownlands were not so large. Why, she would not have to kill off more than fifty or sixty people to replace them with her own pawns.

 

Hmmmm. Make it a hundred, for a nice round figure.

 

She would take it easy on that front. Mass slaughters of the nobility were tricky to handle when you could not bombard them from orbit. Best to ease back to enjoy her private studies. Cersei glanced at the tomes and scrolls in the small library by the sleeping quarters in her lab. She had Maggy the Frog to thank for the inspiration of her bedtime reading. She had amassed quite a collection through Lysa's purchases under the pretext of a cure for her womb. Cersei's need to understand precisely what the witch had done to her with that blood-magic spells had lead her into avenues that that Lucrezia Mongfish had never investigated in Europa. There were metaphysics to this world that begged investigation. Warging, the weirwoods, the magic of the glass candles--all were avenues of SCIENCE! that Cersei could break new ground. Maggy had been responsible for opening Cersei's eyes. Which was why she had not had every member of House Spicer killed, Sybell Spicer lived, if being chained as a mute whore in a Lordsport tavern counted as "living".

 

She should take the time to spit out a pair of brats to at least end the missives from Father about her duties in the marriage bed. Cersei snickered. Oh, the process of that would be an enjoyable diversion. She had the challenge of seducing Stannis Baratheon. Hee! Of course, she could simly have him drugged in his apartments and extract the needed material as he slumbered. She already had some of Lysa's eggs on ice awaiting her goodbrother's seed. Cersei was not particularly fussy about legacy and heirs. That was Father's obsession with dragging the Lannister name from the mud it had been in her grandsire's day. Bah. Who cared about bloodlines when you were not the one in charge? Cersei intended to rule in her own right--one way or another--for a very long time. There were ever so many ways, as long-lived Sparks such as Albia and Simon Voltaire had demonstrated. There was also the groundwork established in Europa by her former self in switching minds and bodies.

 

So bearing another woman's children to masquerade as true heirs was not too objectionable. She could even make a splash in couture with lovely maternity clothes! But a gloved hand and a sample bottle used to rape seed from a sleeping man was just so _sterile._ Having him quiver under one's touch had no style when he was unconscious. It was like harvesting organs on a victim under anaesthesia. You wanted to see the dying light in their eyes as you lifted out their vital organs one by one. It was all about the chase, especially in such a hard target like a manmaid such as Stannis. Mind you, he was quickly losing the hair that she would want to mount as a scalp on her trophy wall.

 

Mmmmm. Yes. Retirement from scheming was going to be **_fun._**

 

Ser Ilyn's eyes flicked open when she straddled him.

 

" _ **Wakey wakey, ser. Let us see how that tongue of yours works. Heee**_."


End file.
